


...In a Galaxy Far, Far Away

by AtlinMerrick



Series: Binary Stars: Techienician [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: (No Matt is not Kylo Ren), (You're welcome 221b_hound), A Homecoming, Also I made up proper full names for Techie and Matt and I like them very much, Also coming, Climbing like a TREE, Delicate Techie wrists being loved on yes, Intercrural Sex, Loving and rutting and climbing, M/M, Reunion Sex, Wrist love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 07:32:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7609345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/pseuds/AtlinMerrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Techie would stay here with Mattie for hours-days-weeks if he could, belly-to-belly close. But he knew that this sort of sweetness was sweet because it was made up of minutes not days, minutes unearthed after a long shift, squeezed in before morning came.</p><p>Or long sweet minutes found after coming home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...In a Galaxy Far, Far Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/gifts).



> ...whose [wonderful artwork](http://jeusus.tumblr.com/) brings me joy.

Matt doesn't have nightmares anymore.

Actually, he's not even sure those things _were_ nightmares. It seemed always that their substance was little more than darkness, the echo of emptiness. The nightmares weren't bad at all.

It was the waking that terrified him.

Because somehow Matt opened his eyes to that darkness no matter what the light outside and a chest hollowed with fear. He'd lie in bed so full of the emptiness it _pushed._ He'd grunt, twist onto elbows and knees on the mattress, rocking and struggling to breathe.

The noises that he made scared him, so he'd dig his teeth into the soft skin of his wrist, never understanding why he hurt so much and with no one in his life or his bed to ask or to care.

Then there was Techie.

Tip-toe quiet except when he chattered fast, still except when he was clutching Mattie's hand or hair or a tiny tool, Techie asked for little and gave all. Sweet and profane, uncomplicated and complex, Techie was the absolute love of Matt's life and he was so very, very much…

…not here.

Yes, he was only a couple parsecs distant, but he might as well have been in a galaxy far, far away as on Tinnel IV, having a holiday with his mother. Matt had so wanted to meet the woman who had helped make this man, and when Techie had asked Matt if he'd come too, he'd head-butted Techie's temple and mumbled some old proverb he'd learned when he was a kid. "Wither thou goest, I will go."

Except he didn't.

A technician out with Kollock flu, then a kriffing _other_ , meant Matt had to cover both shifts. Techie went without him.

Now, a dozen hours later and while Techie walked under the sun of that planet far, far away, Mattie opened his eyes from a nightmare. Only, instead of rocking himself back to sleep on elbows and knees, Matt reached for Techie's pillow, then laughed breathy, misery scattering like sand in the wind.

Just before he left Techie had promised to leave behind "a little me" but, crawling cold and grumpy under the blankets an hour ago Matt hadn't reached over, so he hadn't found the pair of jeans under the blanket, nor the long-sleeved t-shirt Techie had pinned to those jeans, all of it dragged out of the dirty laundry.

Matt pulled those clothes on top of him and he wrapped arms and legs around his little phantom, sniffing into a worn collar and smelling soap, sweat, home.

It was enough.

Enough to go dreamless into six nights, steadfast through six days, doing what needed doing, and that turned out to be quite a lot as another tech came down with Kollock, to which Matt's big body seemed blissfully resistant. For six days he had focus, and those days went by fast enough.

Matt's focus was shot to hell the seventh day though, when he woke to no message from Techie. He'd sent three every day for six days and now nothing but that was probably okay, Techie was in transit after all, coming home, so it was good.

Except the bit where Matt spent the entirety of that seventh morning so distracted he lost tools across three decks, including two wrenches, a calcinator, and nearly his glasses, which he didn't even remember taking _off._

When it was finally 15:40, a half hour before Techie's shuttle was due, Matt half-ran to the delta landing bay, only to find that nearly every last kriffing one of the eighty thousand humanoids on board the _Accord_ were in that hangar ogling and drooling. The thing everyone was panting over was an Upsilon-class shuttle that had docked two hours previous.

Look, Matt's a Class IV tech (actually he's a couple months short of an engineering degree, but that's neither here nor there) so unlike these besotted fools, Matt knew that that unnecessarily large ship was absurd, a perfect example of form over function.

Weighed down with every sort of pointless sensor along its oversized wings, it was those ridiculously massive wings—along with the servos to work them and the armor to protect them—which made the ship half again as heavy as shuttles twice its size and with double its crew compliment. It gobbled fuel and couldn't even land in half the bays on half the ships in the fleet. If that fancy-pants ship was an example of the future of exploration, Matt despaired.

While he seemed the only person in the entire hangar who wasn't ready to hump the damn thing, he was also the only one trying to get to the small-craft landing area. The harder he tried to get there—politely pushing past troopers, around officers, over fuel lines (he tripped on then pocketed an abandoned crimper; Techie loved having extra tools)—the slower he went.

By the time he got within sighting distance of the delta blast doors Matt saw Techie's transport shuttle—

—taking off.

It was the weirdest feeling, the animal panic that rose in Matt's chest. He yelled, "Wait," and started running after the lifting ship but of course a man's no match for a shuttle gaining speed.

Matt stopped dead and stared after it, fist pressed hard over the pushing emptiness in his chest and it was long, long seconds before his lizard brain let him realized the prosaic obvious: Techie's shuttle had come in early. So early that they'd had time to refuel, meaning an hour, at least.

Another painful spike of panic. If Techie was home—

Matt yanked out his pocket pad.

—certainly he'd have messaged Matt?

Matt scrolled fast through his mail but there were just support requests, employee memos, a pfassking invite to a 'Lujo Luau'. No message from Techie though, no nothing.

This time Matt pushed.

Right through clusters of officers and troopers and civilians, he trailed 'sorries' as he went but _go_ he did and by the time he made it out the hangar he was running.

The _Accord's_ nearly two miles long, with most of the landing bays at back, command near the middle, and living quarters toward the head. Later Matt couldn't even remember how he'd got from one end of the ship to the other.

He _did_ remember standing in front of their door, that throat-closing panic still swelling like poison in his chest.

What if Techie wasn't inside?

Of course he would be. He'd only gone on holiday. With his mother. To a nice Class C planet. The largest predator on Tinnel IV was smaller than Matt's hand and while that's plenty big, it wasn't enough to pose a danger to a human. So Techie was all right and he was on the other side of their door, the door right here in front of Matt and as soon as he opened it he'd know that everything was fine, just perfectly fine as soon as he stepped through, any second now, any second, yes.

Courage comes in all sizes. Small moments may demand as much bravery as those of a grander nature, and though Matt's arms ached from the cold in them, though his chest was so tight he was grunting against the pain of it, Matt palmed the door to their quarters and it would not be wrong to say some part of him had readied tears, some part of him was prepared to get on elbows and knees and rock, and rock, and rock.

The room was empty.

Then, round the tiny corridor that led to the fresher and the 'kitchen' Matt heard a crash. Later he'd find out that Techie simply dropped his tea rather than set it down, simply let it go at the sound of their door. And he'd run.

A half dozen feet, sure, but it careened him round the corner and there they were, face to face and Matt laughed, helium high and with such relief it made him weak.

Techie had a beard. It was pale as his brows and six-day long, and it was beautiful.

Matt had new glasses, the frames gold, like his hair, and they glinted bright when Matt pushed them up his nose.

The half-smile on Techie's face washed away. He stepped on his own scattered bags and their bed, a blue-eyed tank moving relentless toward the big blond man in the high-collared cerulean jacket, the fanciest thing Matt owned, the thing he'd bought because the color was the same as his true love's eyes.

From the bed Techie landed with a thud on the floor, stood in front of Matt for a long second.

They're nearly the same height these two, so close as to not matter. Yet they're about to discover that Techie? Well, with a rumbling little moan Techie can climb Mattie like a _tree._

Without a word Techie wrapped a long leg round Matt's thigh, slung an arm around Matt's neck, and with the other arm, the other leg, he clutched Matt tight, pulled himself up and, still moaning, he _climbed._

It was inches, that was all, but Techie's a grown man in one full gravity, and pulling his own weight _up_ was work, but he had Matt's hips to help, Matt's neck, then there it was, the goal: Matt's wide waist. Techie wrapped his legs there, straightened his own back, and he looked down into Matt's eyes, into the brightest sort of dark, brown eyes so big, face so pale, looking up at Techie as if on his own brilliant sun.

A very human sun with eyes whirring wide. Raw, hungry, hot with want, Techie imagined the mechanics of his irises were bleeding his vision blue, haloing Matt like something sacred, his own yellow-haired god.

Techie grinned again. Suns, gods, god _damn_ but it was like one of those epics his mother loved so much. All those ancient sagas and fables of which she was an inexhaustible source, reciting to a sleepy four-year-old boy or entertaining a thirty-four-year old man while they queued for a museum or fanned themselves by the sea. Damn those tales had addled him good, hadn't they, made his brain sloppy with poetry.

Except is it poetry if the man you love _is_ gold as a god, big as one too, strong and beneficent and tilting his face up to you as if you really are his sun?

Techie curled down, their foreheads touched. He hummed deep from his chest, a sound Matt always thinks sounds like an engine, a living machine of skin, something delicate and powerful.

In a few small rooms inside a very large ship they were suns both, high and bright in one another's firmament, gods in each other's religion, they were Galacian Asha'Techk and Matthew Kee and oh they were so very much in love.

Which was about two seconds away from being more funny than heart-filling somber because so help him Mattie was about to simply walk off with Techie wrapped round him like that, just carry him through the corridors, a prideful parade of two and he'd have done it, as besotted blind as a man can be, but right then Matt's relief-weak knees gave out and they stumble-tripped to the floor.

Stretched out on the deck Techie laughed himself stupid until he realized Matt's hand was back of his head, that even falling the big man with the big, big hands had protected his tender parts, because yes, Techie's head, sometimes they are extra careful about it, wary of elbows and knees in bed some night because on the really bad days Techie's cybernetic eyes felt like they were _only just._ Only just working, only just staying put inside his head. That they were barely. Hardly. Just about.

Sometimes.

More than any word they'd have said to each other—and they still haven't said one—Matt's hand at the back of his head said _I love you_ and Techie curling close to Matt's body, there in the middle of their bags-scattered floor, well it whispered the same.

They did say the words later, though. After Techie fell down exhausted and slept ten hours straight, Matt zonked out beside him, not one single dream in his curly-haired head.

They showed the words later, with gifts shared. Mattie presented all the small things he'd found across the ship while Techie was away. The crimper; a cool little plasma torch like the one they'd once seen a Kokash artist use to create intricate little sculptures; a wide silver ring he'd found dusty beneath a console and which Techie put on his index finger right away.

Techie gave Matt inexpensive jewels, earrings that curved sinuous along the back of his gloriously prominent ears; black-and silver hair clips; a thin winding chain to go round and round his neck, because Techie knew Mattie should be adorned fine, that his body was made for jewels, so Techie finds pretty things for his pretty radar prince.

After all that, the sleep and some food and physical gifts, they gave one another the gift of the physical.

"I can feel your heart," Techie said, his voice still bearing the influence of his mother's lilt. The effect would fade soon, Techie's inflections would flatten again, but right now Matt relished the sing-song sweetness of his love's voice and so while he touched, he asked Techie to talk.

So he did.

"In your finger tips, thump thump thump," Techie said as Matt's fingers danced over narrow shoulders, then his neck.

"It's in your mouth, bum, bum, bum," he said, as Matt licked at Techie's beard, then tugged gently at it with his lips.

"And it's in here," he said, pressing both hands to Matt's bare chest as they lay side-by-side on the bed.

And finally…

"Taste me," Techie asked, soft and sleepy, running the back of his hand along Matt's cheek, until Matt turned his head and—quick-quick—captured a finger between his teeth, then an arm between his hands and, in slow and certain degrees, Matt inched his mouth down.

For all his seeming slenderness there's mass to Techie. He's a solid sort of slim, there are no bones poking sharp. So Techie's deft hands are not narrow, ethereal things. They're about the size a six-foot-two inch man ought to have, they're as capable and sturdy as Techie's body, but oh, oh oh oh. Techie's _wrists._

Confounding things those, so thin and sweet. Matt had grown hungry for their daintiness while his love was away, famished for this delicacy, so he wrapped his wide mouth around one as if he would _sup._

Techie hummed and came in close to breathe and to _see,_ because he'd never grow tired of the mouth on this man, wide and full and right now nearly around his wrist.

Matt tasted, as requested. Tasted the plumpness of Techie's veins, the heat in his skin, the want in his sweat. He ran his tongue along a wrist bone, over tendons, and he paused at the inside of Techie's wrist, took his pulse with his tongue.

"Yes," Techie said, agreeing to something that hadn't been said but that was fine. Yes was _always_ fine.

As a matter of fact, yes was _now._

Matt didn't so much pull Techie on top of him as he wriggled his way beneath him. "Like your 'little me,'" Matt said by way of explanation, draping Techie's slim arms along his own, like he had done for six days with a purposely unwashed t-shirt.

Techie nodded, seeing clear as day the jeans and shirt draped over Matt's big body. He'd taken one of Matt's shirts with him, a wonderfully over-sized thing that was stained blue with Talek curry and had smelled of Matt at his overheated worst which was _the absolute best._ Techie loved when Matt was just this side of rank, because he loved Matt superlatives, did Techie. Big, loud, bright, soft, smelly—it didn't matter what the extreme, he _loved_ Matt's extremes and so yes, he'd taken with him a highly scented bit of Matt _in extremis._

And speaking of farthest reaches, Techie wriggled his reach down Matt's body, until his own heavy erection drooped between Matt's spread legs. He rubbed himself along the crack of Matt's ass a little, a contemplative sort of humping that after a little while added a lovely superlative to the air: The scent of two men in rut.

Matt crossed his ankles, closed his thighs tight. Techie pressed his face into Matt's neck, rocking his hips shallow and slow, cock slip-sliding only as much as foreskin would allow but Techie was pretty fucking keen right now and wasn't going to need much more than what he already had.

He got it anyway, with a slight slick of precome smoothing things down below.

"Down below," Techie giggled, because sometimes he's a weird sort of six-years-old and loves sounding _naughty._

"Are you making me a mess down there?" Matt whispered, always willing to play along, to make things naughtier still. "Do things to me down there."

There was that rumbling little moan again as Techie rocked faster between Matt's thick thighs. He'd stay here for hours-days-weeks if he could, belly-to-belly close, but this sort of sweetness was _sweet_ because it was made up of minutes not days, minutes found after a brief absence, unearthed after a long day, squeezed in before a long shift.

Techie licked his hand—pausing to tongue slowly at his own wrist just so he could hear Mattie whimper—then trapped Mattie's cock between hand and their bellies, continuing to thrust between Mattie's thighs, shallow and sure.

This went on a dreamy little while, until Matt asked, "Do it again," and tongued the air to show what he meant.

Techie withdrew his precome-sticky hand, Matt's hand slid right in to take its place, then Techie licked with pointed tongue at his own fine wrist.

It didn't take long after that. Well, after that and little sighs. After that and the flutter of red-lashed eyes. After that and the quick-quick thrust of narrow hips.

When Techie wrapped his mouth around his own wrist and _moaned_ that was the end of that, Mattie went off like a firework, every grunt and arch a superlative, the best sort of loud-soft-big-bright and yes, _smelly_ because that's what did it for Techie now, the thick smell of sex.

After Matt's back fell flat onto the bed, Techie opened his mouth to taste Matt's breaths, thrust faster between his legs. When Matt pressed his open mouth over Techie's and started taking in each exhale, that was the end of that. Techie fucked Matt's legs once, twice, and the third time oh god he made such a beautiful mess _down below_ that Matt had a lot to say about that.

The superlatives included an awed _holy fuck look at all this love._ They also included a reverent _I didn't know anyone could come this much._ And finally there was the plaintive supplication _do you think you could do that again, could you come like that inside_ me?

Their were many, many fine and reverential superlatives out of both their mouths after _those._

—  
_Thank you 221b-hound for the never-not-beautiful phrase 'climb him like a tree,' and A-Secret-Scribbler for the idea of Matt loving on Techie's wrists. For which there is[beautiful Techie and Matt artwork](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/151032974854/angryangryowl-today-seems-to-be-unfinished) AND [Techie artwork](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/150048563104/angryangryowl-day-3-of-30-days-of-techienician)! Thank you so, so much Ducky! Aaaand also, like most of the Accord's crew I'd hump [an Upsilon-class shuttle too](http://media.moddb.com/images/groups/1/8/7097/KyloRenCommandShuttle-Fathead.png). That thing is like a spaceship version of sex on legs. No wonder it's Kylo's flagship. (Oh, and [here's Techie's perfect beard](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/148099400939/fic-in-a-galaxy-far-far-away-techie-would-stay) and Techie's [fine, fine wrists](http://atlinmerrick.tumblr.com/post/147392594849/cylin-aka-ankamo-atlinmerrick-yuna-ya)_.) 


End file.
